I Spy with My Little Eye
by thegirlwhocriedbadwolf
Summary: Loneliness is the human condition, understood by no one, craved by all. Unless you're like me... (Modern day, Cato x Clove)
1. Hello, Cato Weston

**A/N: I'm obsessed with espionage, and this idea has been eating at my brain for quite some time... Based off of Burn Notice a fair bit - no knowledge of the show needed.**

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**Any form of criticism would be greatly appreciated; I know I'm not that great a writer.**

**Weo.**

* * *

"So you've got a job for me." My question comes out sounding more like a statement, considering how many 'favors' I've done for management this month.

"Nothing too major, just a simple...Disposal."

I roll my eyes, putting the disposable cell phone on speaker and setting it down next to my weight bench.

"Disposal as in body disposal?" I grunt, pushing up the bar that holds 100 pound weights on each end.

A hearty chuckle is heard from the phone's speaker. "Oh, Weston. You understand that this is on a need-to-know basis."

_Bastard_. "Well, would you like me to be un-prepared and fuck up this little 'favor' of yours? I'm sure the Feds would just _love _to know about this little stunt you'd like me to pull."

A few moments of silence pass, nothing but the sound of the rain pattering hard on the roof of my loft. "You'll be informed more later. For now, let's just say some little lady from MI6 is causing trouble with our...situation." The phone line is disconnected and I set the weights down, slipping on a t-shirt and slamming the door behind me, out into the piss warm Florida rain.

* * *

"So listen... I've got this ...'job' to do, and I may need back up. Is the name "Clove Glenanne" familiar to you?" I propose.

"I don't know, Cato... If you haven't heard of her, you don't deserve to be in this business. She's got a dangerous reputation. Back home, they tell her stories to their children to keep them out of trouble..." My buddy, former Russian assassin, Alexei replies, chucking a file onto the table that's marked; **"CLASSIFIED"**. I flip through, seeing pictures of a tiny girl, looking to be about my age, still young and a fresh recruit, obviously. "How old is she?" I ask, sizing up a picture of her getting out of a vehicle somewhere in Lebanon, rifle in her hand, next to a chick pea field.

"18. Orphaned. They make the best covert operatives." He replies bluntly, taking another sip of his scotch.

"She's too small to be a good fighter. Must have an impeccable shot." I state, observing the petite girl with long, curly black hair and striking green eyes, an un-godly amount of freckles scattered across her face and lean body. _She's different looking... Won't be easy to miss before I shoot her._

"Wrong." Alexei says, stuffing a hamburger into his mouth. "She knows Sambo, Brazilian Jujitsu, she could probably kick your ass." He licks the ketchup from his fingers obnoxiously, elaborating. "But you're right on that last bit. She's got a shot that no one can touch. Heard she was in the Green Beret for a while after highschool, no one ever heard from Clove Glenanne after her graduation. You remember Svetlana?" I nod, recalling his trigger-happy ex-girlfriend from back in our days when I was doing some work in Russia.

"Yeah, well, this Clove girl is a thousand times worse than that. Add in that she's a bomb expert, knows fucking martial arts I've never even heard of, and she can pick any lock you give her; safes included." He takes another swig of scotch, and I think for a second, looking over the coded messages in her file. "She's basically a free-lance psychopath." I furrow my blonde eyebrows at this.

"If she's only my age, how does she have all this training? Especially with the MI6...Fuckin' British chicks..." I scoff, knowing the type. They all think they can do anything, I've had my run-ins with quite a few. The seductive Katherine from Greenwich, who tried to kill me with a poisonous kiss, Avery from London, who literally nearly stabbed me in the back, and let's not forget Claire and Gemma, the former model twins who went undercover as bar maids just to drug my drink and hold me captive for information in a cell for three weeks because they thought I had information on their blacklistings.

"I'll help you, Cato. You know I will. Just...do me a favor and don't get killed. The last thing you want to do is underestimate her, no matter how small she is. The young ones are always feisty. I should know this from working with you for all this time." He smirks, leaving a fifty dollar bill on the table before strutting out like he owns the joint.

_Sounds like I've got some work to do..._

* * *

"Alexei. She in yet?" I ask, pretending to browse through the t-shirts in Orlando International Airport. I put my sunglasses down, glancing up at the mirror security plate in the corner of the ceiling, watching the buzz of excited children with mickey mouse hats and elderly couples looking at maps upside down.

"Just be patient, Cato. Her flight just landed."

I hear the click of heels behind me and turn around casually, picking up a tacky bobble-head palm tree. I glance up through my sunglasses, seeing the small figure of my target strut confidently past me. She's in a green military jacket and shorts, sporting peep-toe wedges on her feet. Most of her porcelain face is hidden by her large sunglasses, and she drags a small suitcase behind her. Her ringlets bob behind her as she walks, and I quickly start after her.

"Well hello there." I lower my glasses onto the bridge of my nose, looking her up and down, appreciating the tight denim of her shorts from this angle. "Call you back later, bastard."

"Cato, don't do anything stupid. Wait until tonight; she has her own job to do. That's why she's in Miami. Taking out Jan, that Czech human trafficker, I think. She'll be at Crimson tonight, get a suit. Bow tie and dress shirt, fucker."

He hangs up and I roll my eyes, trailing behind Glenanne. Every so often she sits down, pretending to flip through a magazine. _Maybe she was supposed to meet someone... _Either way, I know she's good. Green Berets are impeccable liars, so I'll have to coax the trust out of her before I can stab her in the back... _Literally. _

I notice a slight bulge on her right hip, not enough for anyone who's not trained to notice, and I get the feeling that whole "free-lance psychopath" shit Alexei was going on with wasn't just to scare me into behaving.

I follow her out to the parking lot, where she gets into a black Jeep Wrangler. _Why am I not surprised... _I chuckle, sliding into the smooth, leather seats of my mustang, and tailing her.

After over an hour of going 40 mph behind her, I've been out to the Glades and back, circled around to Miami Metro Police over three times, and it seems like she can't drive for shit. Then it dawns on me. _Of course..._ My cover's blown, she knows she's being tailed. The question is, _who does she think I am? _She's driving like they teach you to; signal one way, turn the other, speed up, slow down. Ideally, you want to drive like an idiot until your follower makes a mistake. _Too bad for her, I don't make mistakes._

* * *

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" I pound my fist on the coffee table, infuriated.

"Calm down Cato, it happens to everybody. You didn't know she was going to drive through a fucking fence. Like I said; Free lance psychopath." Alexei scoffs, sipping a beer and reclining back in the dusty old La-Z-Boy that rests in the middle of my loft.

"This kind of thing just never happe-"

"Happens to you, the great Cato Weston, who never fails, yada yada yada. Listen here, buddy, I warned you about her. You're going to have to up your game if you want to put a bullet through that pretty little head of hers. Earn her trust first, I can whip up a fake ID for you in no time. Now, go get dressed up, fucker. I rented you a tux." He pushes me toward the metal staircase, and I stomp up, hearing him rummaging through the fridge.

"Don't you have anything _besides_ yogurt?" He yells as I button up my shirt.

"Hey, don't hate on my yogurts. They were a house-warming gift from management." I say, jogging down the stairs and fixing my tie. "Protein, my Russian friend."

"Yeah well tell management to send some liquor next tim- Holy fuck." He stops short, slamming the refrigerator door closed and gawking in amusement.

"Shut your trap before I blow your brains out." I put my hand up as he opens his mouth to say something, raising his arms in surrender.

"Good luck." He pats me harshly on the shoulder. "You'll need it."

I tuck my gun securely to my side, give my ridiculous bow tie a final tug, and don't bother locking the door behind me.

* * *

I spot her immediately. Her small stature cutting gracefully through the crowd. Her lips painted a simple nude, eyes made-up slightly. Her tousled hair pinned half-up, half-down, her tiny face almost getting lost in the mirage of curls. _She's hot... _

_Too bad I'm gonna put a bullet right between her eyes. _

"S'cuse me little lady. Care to dance?" I ask in a Southern twang - part of my cover story. She turns on her heel, and I notice how I loom over her, but no sign of fear or... Actually any expression what-so-ever shows in her eyes. _Except for that ever-present homicidal gleam, of course. _

_Management sure does know how to pick 'em... _

"It would be my pleasure." She puts a phony smile on her face, and I take notice of the endearing gap in between her front teeth. I take her small hand in mine, leading her out into the crowd of people dancing slowly to the live band playing 'Cry Me A River'. _How fitting for this occasion..._ I think smugly to myself. She wraps her toned arms around my neck and I place my hands on her hips, which are accentuated - along with her coin-sized waist - thanks to the long, one-shoulder gown she's sporting. Her exposed collarbone teases me, the flawless alabaster skin stark against her dress.

"Well fuck me sideways, I forgot to introduce myself! Name's Quinn Moser." I flash her my friendliest smile. "And who might you be?" I ask, dipping her, easily supporting her light weight.

"Zula Parks." She answers without hesitation as we rock back and forth to the music. I notice how little distance is between us, and try not to let my dick do the talking.

"That's a perdy name, Zula."

"Well thank you. You're quite the flirt, aren't you?" She smirks coyly, her lip grazing my ear.

_Hurt me... _

"You could say that." I wink, dropping my hands to her lower back, dangerously close to her rear end. I feel her tense up, her jade green eyes gleaming with rage.

_Gotcha._

I offer to go get us drinks, leaving her on one of the chaise lounges.

"Two glasses of champagne." I tell the bartender, glancing back at the black haired beauty every now and then to make sure she hasn't slipped away. "Thank you, sir." I mumble distractedly, taking the drinks in both hands. I rush back to the sofa, nearly knocking over a few obvious call-girls in the process, only to find that she's disappeared, a note left in her place. I furrow my eyebrows, setting down the alcohol and picking it up. I un-fold it, spidery print inching across the crumpled paper.

_Nice try, Cato Weston. _

_Xoxo _

_~ You know who._

_P.S. Turn around._

I glance behind me, up at the top of the stairs, only to see her smirking back at me, arching her eyebrows coyly. She blows a kiss in my direction and turns around, walking away, leaving me to admire the slight sway of her hips as she exits. _She's good..._

_But I'm better. _

* * *

**Was it crap? Hope not. **

**Adios.**


	2. Tactical Assistance

**A/N:**

**Yo.**

**I appreciate all the reviews, follows, and favorites dearly. Thank you!**

**I do not own the Hunger Games, all rights go to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

I peek over the top of a newspaper, tipping my sunglasses down slightly so I have a clear view of her lounging on a beach chair.

I turn the page of the newspaper casually, shifting on the bench of the worn picnic table I'm seated at; the rusty red paint chipping off and wood decaying on the legs to the point of no return.

"Hello again." A familiar feminine voice purrs from severely close, and I swallow a lump in my throat.

Lowering the paper, I fold it nonchalantly and cross my arms, surveying her clad body in a black bikini.

"Hello to you too." I smirk, sweeping my eyes across her torso, noticing the slight etching of muscle on her abdomen.

_Definitely Green Beret._

"Do you have some sort of bone to pick with me, Weston?" She leans in closer, clasping her hands together and resting her forearms on the table.

The shade of the palm trees create shadows on her face, filling the hollowness of her cheekbones and making the minor ridge on her nose more prominent.

"You could say that, _Glenanne_."

"Well, I'd appreciate if you'd stop with the surveillance - or at least do a better job of it, until a little issue of my own has been taken care of."

"We'll see."

"We will indeed." She gets up, gliding back over to the sandy white beach and picking up her towel before walking back over to her car parked on the curb. She wiggles her fingers at me gracefully, hopping into her car and driving off down the dry pavement.

I pick up the newspaper, dusting the paint chippings off of my cargo shorts, and a small crumple of paper falls onto the grass. I reach down to pick it up, finding only a handful of blunt words etched across it in red pen;

_Dolphin Mall entrance, 7:30 tonight._

_Xoxo_

_~ Yours truly_

These fucking letters have got to stop.

* * *

"Told you she was good." Alexei says condescendingly, taking another tedious mouthful of his tall glass of Jack Daniels.

"Too good..." I mutter, wrapping my hands around my drink. "Maybe I should just tell management I can't do this."

"That's a good way to get yourself killed."

"Hell, Glenanne's probably plotting to kill me right now."

"I wouldn't doubt it."

"You're so comforting." I scowl, Alexei shrugging in defense.

"I'll help you tonight, pretty boy. Maybe tail her after your little meeting is over."

"It wouldn't hurt..." I concur, tilting the neck of my bottle, letting the seething liquid snake down my throat.

"Great, I'll get my camera."

* * *

I sit on the lonesome concrete bench outside the Dolphin Mall, tapping my foot absentmindedly. I glance around the near-empty parking lot; her Wrangler nowhere in sight.

My phone buzzes suddenly in my pocket. I take it out, furrowing my eyebrows at the unknown name before answering, bringing the device to my ear.

"Hello?"

"To your right."

I squint, making out a small yellow square on one of the concrete pillars.

"What the fuck..." I get up, edging closer, pulling the sticky-note from its resting place. An arrow?

"Follow them."

I walk around almost the entire left perimeter of the mall before the arrows stop.

"Bus stop, ten meters away."

I furrow my eyebrows, glancing over to the enclosed glass. A small female silhouette stands inside of it, her hair flying behind her in the gentle breeze, a wild vortex of curls.

She's illuminated as the street light on the sidewalk flickers on, casting an orange tint across her serious features and the tiny white dress she's wearing. She wags a finger at me, shaking her head 'no', before pointing to Alexei's car.

"Next time, don't bring friends." The line cuts off and when I look back, she's gone.

* * *

"If she gets away one more time, I swear I'm going to blow her head off."

"Or just blow her, period." I give him a seething glare, my eyes iced over with a harshness that's hard to place in normal people.

"What?" He defends. "Seriously, Cato. You don't know if you want to kill her, or fuck her. For your sake, I'm hoping its the first option. She looks like she'd chop your balls off and wear them as earrings."

"Why is this so hard?" I mumble tiredly into my pillow, rubbing my temples, trying to evade the ever-present headache I feel coming on.

"Because she's good. You just need to get one step ahead of her. Some leverage."

"And how the fuck am I going to do that?"

|With the help of someone who's _very _close with her at the moment."

I perk up, lifting my head away from my pillow, furrowing my eyebrows.

"You mean..."

* * *

"Jan! What's up, man?" Alexei greets warmly in a Brooklyn accent, opening his arms. "Aye, two beers here for my friend and I." He snaps his fingers, winking at the waitress.

"Do I know you?" Jan asks, his hand instinctively going to his side where I assume his gun is.

"Yeah, buddy! I did some business with your friend Ivan, we was uh... Let's just say we was exportin' some 'goods'." This seems to convince Jan that we're safe to talk to, and the tense look on his face fades, making the wrinkles less prominent.

"Listen, Jan, buddy..." Alexei starts, gratefully accepting his drink from the waitress. "I've got some stuff to take care of with a certain uh... Clove Glenanne. I heard you guys was real tight." He wraps one of his fingers around the other for emphasis.

Jan's eyes dart around, as if waiting for her to pop out of nowhere and cut all of our heads off with a butter knife.

"Don't know much. Only know she's staying at The Deauville Resort... That good enough?"

Alexei's face breaks into a grin. "That's plenty, Jan." He pats him on the back. "We'll be in touch."

* * *

The attractive Cuban woman eyes me suspiciously from behind the counter.

"Please, ma'am. My mom's up in our room sleeping and she won't answer her phone, I've lost my key. Isn't there something you could do?" I plead, selling my cover ID like my life depends on it - which it might, if this doesn't go as planned.

She huffs, tapping away at her computer, her fake nails clicking obnoxiously on the keyboard.

"Here." She states flatly, handing me a room key. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

I bid her a quick thank you, adding a phony smile for good measure, before boarding the elevator and riding up to the seventh floor.

_Room 734._

I smirk, swiping the card, and carefully open the door, closing it again with the least amount of noise possible. I glide casually into the main living area of the room, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator and plopping down onto the uncomfortable white leather sofa.

"Can I help you, Weston?" Clove's voice pulls me from sleep, and I sit in almost complete darkness, an infomercial about a weight loss pill blaring on the television.

_Well this didn't go as planned..._

"Just dropping by to see how you were getting settled in." I smirk, rubbing at my tired eyes.

She rolls her eyes, strutting into the bedroom and setting her shopping bags - filled with supplies to make some homemade C4; petroleum jelly, spackling putty, isopropyl, candle wax, corn starch, cooking oil - down, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off her wedges. I hang in the doorway, resting my hands in my pockets.

"Of course you were." She exasperates sarcastically, un-buttoning her shirt.

I turn away modestly, to which she scoffs.

"What are you, 7? I'm decent, bloke. You can look now." I can blatantly hear the eye-roll in her voice without even having to look to verify.

I meet her eyes again, unsure of how to continue this conversation.

_So, um, I was hired to kill you, and if you could just give me your gun and comply, that'd be great._

* * *

"Please tell me you didn't sleep with her." Alexei pinches the bridge of his nose.

"What? No. She kicked me out before I could even come up with an intelligent plan."

"...You just let her kick you out of her hotel room? What is she, like, 80 pounds?"

I roll my eyes, kicking him in the shin as I press speed-dial number three.

"Hello, Cato. Nice to hear from you. I assume the job is finished?"

"Not entirely, boss." I rub the back of my neck.

The silence grows, making my heart beat a little faster every second that goes by. An exasperated sigh is heard from the other end.

"You've got three weeks to finish this, put it on the back burner for now. We need you for some... tactical assistance. We'll be in touch." The line goes dead and I curse, pounding my fist on the steering wheel.

"Trouble?" Alexei asks.

"Worse." I run my fingers through my short, blonde hair. "_Tactical assistance_."

* * *

**Boom. **

**Suspense.**

**Peace.**


	3. Eat Your Heart Out

**Hi,**

**Feedback on this chapter would be much appreciated! Constructive criticism is desired... quite a lot.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, all rights go to Suzanne Collins.**

**Yay, Chapter 3! Enjoy (only if its good)!**

* * *

"I don't like your field tactics!" Marvel screams, throwing his hands up in the air for emphasis.

_That fucking accent is familiar..._

"Yeah, well I don't like your _whining_!"

"Oh Weston, I thought you were better than this? I mean, after you blew up those tanks of water sealant I was almost certain this job would go smoothly."

"Well, you thought wrong. Blowing up some shit is better than a double-homicide. Now can we just move the box and get this over with?"

"A little _anxious_, are we? Come on, then," he grunts, grabbing an end of the wooden crate marked; ** E**

I haul my end up, carefully laying it in the back of a stolen commercial van, securing it with a few bungee cords.

"Nice to know Cato Weston lives up to all this hype," he smirks, slamming the door behind him and starting the loud engine. His green eyes glint with something familiar, but I can't place it.

"Yeah, well, I'd love to say it was a pleasure working with you; but it wasn't. So go run along back to Enobaria and stay out of my life."

He salutes me mockingly before hitting the gas pedal with great force, sending a cloud of dust in his wake.

* * *

"You're just being paranoid. Clove has no family left alive, I'm sure of it," Alexei scoffs, his ego probably bruised after I questioned his knowledge of other operatives.

"His accent, though..."

"You mean the same accent that's throughout all of London?"

"His eyes were green..."

"As are 2% of the entire world's," he raises his dark eyebrows before leaning back into his lawn chair, the shade from the umbrella playing colourful tricks on my vision.

"Face it, Cato. You're just desperate for some leverage on this chick; which won't be easy to get. She's always a gazillion steps ahead of you," he tips his beer back, gulping down the cool liquid graciously in this sweltering weather.

"Excuse me, sir," a tall, blonde waitress with warm brown eyes taps my shoulder bashfully. "Some girl just told me to give this to you."

"Oh..," I push my sunglasses up onto the top of my head, raising my eyebrows and squinting in the harsh sunlight. "Thank you," I accept the note, sweeping my vision across the entire pool yard for her piercing green eyes.

The waitress bounces away happily, confident that she completed her mission.

"Glenanne?" Alexei asks, absentmindedly looking another waitress up and down.

I nod, opening yet another one of her infamous notes;

_Phone booth next to the cabana_

_Xoxo_

I squint, bidding a temporary - and confused - goodbye to Alexei, who doesn't seem to hear me over the ass he's admiring.

"Well, it took you long enough," her accented voice is smooth even when she's irritated.

_She must be able to see me._

"What do you want, Glenanne?" I ask harshly, glancing around frantically for her familiar stature, but to no avail.

"Feisty," I hear the faint sound of a bullet click into place.

_No._

My eyes search for the highest building near us, and I see her poised over an FN SPR, smirking down at me, a Bluetooth set hooked to her small ear.

I open my mouth to say something, but she cuts me off with a scoff.

"Oh don't you worry that blonde head of yours; this isn't for you. Its for my dear friend Gilroy over there in the hot tub."

I glance over at a man, presumably in his early thirties, lounging in the Jacuzzi and sipping a martini sadistically.

I look back up to her; one of her eyes squinted in concentration, her tongue sticking slightly out of her mouth, the breeze blowing her curls around frantically.

"And by the way, I should've known you were a Green Beret... You wouldn't have been able to hear me loading my rifle," I can hear the smirk in her voice.

"Yes, well, _I_ should've known _you _were more of a sociopath than this," I smile up at her, and she grins.

"I'll accept that compliment gratefully. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some business to take care of. Goodbye, Cato."

"Don't do anything stup-" The line is cut off by the dial tone, and I jog over to Alexei casually, smiling and never making eye contact as I talk to him.

"We need to leave."

"What? No," he defends, not wanting to abandon the free alcohol.

"The cops are going to be here soon, so get your alcoholic ass up and leave your drink. Unless of course you want to get taken to jail for _everything thing you've ever done_."

His expression hardens. "What? Why would the cops come here?"

"Because little missy up there is going to put a fucking bullet through hot tub bastard's head any second now."

Alexei takes his sunglasses off, glancing at Gilroy, and I jerk my head up in Clove's direction. He widens his eyes, and I meet her gaze. She waves at both of us briefly, before mouthing something.

_"One..."_

I grab him by the arm, dragging us both out of the pool yard.

_"Two..."_

I look back at her, mouthing the final digit before the gun blows.

_"Three..."_

The sound of a bullet crushes my ears, and I don't stop walking, just listen to the frantic screams and shouts for help from the resort patrons, only being muted when I slam the door to my car. I look at the roof she occupied just seconds before though the rear-view mirror; now empty.

* * *

"Mom, I really don't have time for this right now," I sigh, running my fingers through my hair.

"Somebody needs your help, Cato!" My mother argues, blowing her cigarette smoke directly into my face.

I cough, waving my hand around, trying to cleanse the polluted air. "Fine, mom. Whatever."

"Great!" She brightens immediately, leading me into the living room where a middle-aged woman is seated on the couch. "Paula, this is my son Cato." I nod at the woman, shifting from foot to foot.

* * *

"His name's Thomas Prescott. Supposedly runs a car mechanic service," Katniss, my beautiful bomber of an ex-girlfriend, now one of my partners - so to speak - says, plucking the olive from her tall martini.

_What is it with these people and their alcohol?_

"Where can I find him?" I ask, glancing behind her and furrowing my eyebrows.

"His address is 682 Tavern Street; heavily secured and-" She stops short, shooting me a confused look. "What's so interesting?" She turns around, meeting eyes with Clove, before slowly turning back to me with her gray gaze widened.

"Well...That's unfortunate..."

"Tell me about it..," I mutter, excusing myself for a moment and making my way over to the petite raven-haired girl sitting at the bar, the slight breeze threatening the straps of her bathing suit.

"What do you want _this _time, Glenanne?" I shoot with exasperation, leaning on the counter. She sips her drink through a straw, prolonging our little chat purposely.

"I don't want anything. Can't a girl go out for a drink and just happen to run into someone unfortunate?" She raises her expertly groomed eyebrows, eluding an air of innocence, sucking lightly on the straw.

I narrow my eyes, scrutinizing her expression, before sauntering back to my former table.

"She's a charmer," Katniss mutters with an air of jealousy, downing the rest of her martini, throwing her head back and slapping her glass down onto the table. "What is she, like, 5 foot 5?" She smirks, acknowledging my enemy's small stature compared against her own willowy frame as we walk away.

I lower my sunglasses, taking one last glance at my enemy, before I start the engine and head back to the loft.

"What the hell..," Katniss mumbles, peeling back the layers of biohazard tape that barricade my door.

"Ma'am," A lanky man in a hazmat suit places his hand on Kat's shoulder. "I'm going to need you to leave. Its for your own safety."

She narrows her eyes, boring daggers into his head. "Don't touch me. For _your _own safety."

"According to the Board of Health this loft is _unfit _for human habitation," Marvel Bly steps out from the kitchen. "And here I thought it was just a dump."

He glances at the two of us, briefly sizing Kat up, as it seems. "Katniss. Everdeen, you're... Wearing more clothes than usual."

Katniss jumps at him, but I manage to hold her back, pinning her harshly into place.

"You know," I start, still trying to stop Kat from ripping him apart. "I was on the fence about that chair," I gesture towards the La-Z-Boy being helplessly un-stuffed by a Cuban woman wearing a doctor's mask.

Marvel smirks, walking around the loft aimlessly. "I hope you're also on the fence about, well... Everything that you own, because _toxic mold _could be anywhere" he grabs a beer bottle from the counter, tossing from hand to hand. "You know, there've been reports of spores spreading through places you wouldn't believe," he smashes the bottle onto the hardwood floor, the glass shattering and crumbling tauntingly, looking down at it and grazing his chin. "Nope. No mold in that one!"

"Try the lamp, I was always iffy about it," I suggest sarcastically. "In fact, let me just grab some clothes, and I'll be out of here in no time. Call me when you finish the job."

_Two can play at this mind game, Bly. _

"Actually," He starts, picking up a bag of my clothes. "Don't worry. I packed some things for you," he hands me the duffel bag. "Y'know, for a tough guy, you sure dress like an Easter egg," he smiles, gesturing at the pastel blue and highlighter pink polo shirts stuffed aimlessly into it.

* * *

"I hope you're not bringing toxic mold into the house," my mother states flatly, her cigarette smoke curling up into the air.

''There is no toxic mold, Mrs. Weston,'' Alexei says, taking a long sip from his drink.

My mother turns to him, taking another puff and raising her painted-on eyebrows. "Alexei Stallin. Still living the life of luxury, I see."

"Not _that_ luxurious," he replies, cradling his glass that's filled to the brim with an amber liquid. "this is iced tea," he takes a depressed sip.

"Anyways...," she starts, taking a long breath of cigarette smoke. "my friend Paula's got a problem."

"...he started coming to my workplace and calling my house. I'm really scared, Cato... I think he's a stalker... Its like he's... _Obsessed_ with me," the middle-aged woman, Paula, shares her dilemma with me about a fella she met on an online dating site.

"Alright Paula, we'll take care of Prescott.'' I flash her a reassuring smile, taking Alexei by the arm and roughly dragging him out.

;;;

''Cato, there's no Thomas Prescott here unless he's disguised as an 80 year old man,'' Alexei deadpans, joining me in the parking lot of a large apartment complex.

''Check the IP address from his online dating profile, it'll buy us sometime.''

''Yeah, well, I've got a date with a very important lady-friend in an hour. Beer distributor. I'm telling you, man, this is the woman of my dreams!''

''You have many women in your dreams.''

''What can I say? I'm a romantic, but this one, she's got a beach house in Antigua that's got a quad kegerator, that's 4 kegs of beer at 33 degrees!''

''Sounds like love,'' I announce sarcastically, taking an incoming phonecall. ''Hello?''

''Cato, its Paula. Prescott's outside my work..,'' she trails off in an anxious tone.

"I'll be right there.''

''I saw his car drive past three times, he walked by looking in. Cato, I'm the assistant manager, I can't have him coming in and making a scene.''

''This is a private bank?'' I ask, her previous statement sparking my attention.

''We're an appointment-only private bank and safe deposit company, its all very exclusive. So now you see why I can't have him-''

I cut her off, confirming my suspicions. ''Has Prescott been asking about your work, your schedule?''

''All the time. I'm afraid he's some kind of maniac.''

I glance behind her, two familiar faces catching my attention. I put on a phony smile and wave at them, starting to walk over.

''Who are they?'' Paula asks, scooting in her heels to keep up with me.

''Just some old friends, nothing important,'' this seems to satisfy her, and she walks over to the front desk, her nervous gaze drifting to the silver Lexus parked out front, Prescott's car I'm assuming.

''Hello, Weston.'' Marvel smirks, motioning for me to take a seat in the plush chair next to him, and opposite of Glenanne.

''How did you two find each other?'' I question, my eyes darting from the beautiful special ops to the arrogant government agent.

''I needed some information on you, found a connection between you boys, and tracked him down easily. Not exactly rocket science, Cato,'' Clove concurs, casually flipping through a magazine, tucking her sunglasses behind her ears.

''How could I say 'no' to _that_?'' Marvel smirks, eyeing her.

''Back to business,'' she spits, rolling her eyes at him.

''Right... So Cato, about how you blackmailed me a while back, I'm gonna need every single scrap of paper you have with anything regarding to little old me,'' he leans back in his chair, clasping his hands together. ''You know; the files, phone records, the page in your diary where you drew little hearts around my name,'' he smiles, drawing an invisible heart with his finger.

I lean in, lowering my voice so only the three of us can hear. ''You really wanna go there, Bly? You really wanna go nuclear?'' I narrow my eyes.

''Oh,'' he leans in. ''believe me, I do. What are you thinking? That you've got nothing to lose? Bullshit.'' He reclines back into the sofa.

''Cato,'' Paula whispers, pointing to a slightly robust man in a suit strutting confidently into the bank. ''its him. Its Prescott.''

I audibly sigh. ''_That's_ not a stalker...''

''That,'' Clove states bluntly, ''is a bank robber.''

* * *

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**Tell me.**

**Potassium, bye.**


	4. UGH LENNON

Hi guys... This is awkward...

I know its been almost a month (maybe even that), and I should really have **no** excuse big enough to cover this, but...

I've been really sick lately, and my BMI is down to 15.6... This may not seem that bad, but keep in mind that I'm 5'6"... Its really not healthy for me to be this weight, and I've been to the emergency room and stayed home from school quite a few times these past weeks. I feel terribly sorry, and this story has been extremely neglected. I could have written more (and maybe even updated) quite a few times, but I didn't feel up to it.

Some of you may have noticed that I have updated my other story - Photosynthesis, and are already typing up a review to object/bash me for this, but before you do I'd like to say that I have indeed been working on both of the fics. The Photosynthesis chapter just happened to get finished before my second trip to the hospital (wow, this sounds like I have an eating disorder or something... I don't! I'm just extremely active - basketball, acrobatics, track and field, hip hop; I also go for runs everyday before school - and my metabolism is really high, haha!).

Chapter four of I Spy with My Little Eye is in-the-making, and about 85% finished.

I am terribly sorry, I really can't express how apologetic I am. I'd really like to acknowledge (and thank!) all the lovely followers and reviewers who leave me sweet comments and have stuck with this story despite my lack of updating.

Don't kill me.

-Lennon


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